


How Do You Think I'm Going To Get Along Without You When You're Gone?

by Pearl09



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels are assholes, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bodyswap, Breaking Up & Making Up, Depression, Food mention, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Tags Are Hard, dumbass crowley, hhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-09-29 17:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20439887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: When Crowley thinks Heaven would go the extra mile to make Aziraphale Fall now that he has survived Hellfire, he decides to keep Aziraphale's body to try and keep him safe. Except, he doesn't tell Aziraphale that's the reason why. Aziraphale takes it as a betrayal from his closest friend; from the person he loved. Heaven is two steps ahead, though, and Crowley is forced to run back to Aziraphale for help.





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Rokikurama in the BB discord for throwing this prompt out there, it's killing me  
Thanks to you as well for reading! I hope you enjoy!  
Title from Another One Bites The Dust

Aziraphale had read the small scrap of paper that contained the final prophecy over and over again that night. _When all is fayed and all is done, ye must choofe your faces wiseley, for soon enouff ye will be playing with Fyre._ He scraped the far reaches of his brain for an answer, and as soon as the lightbulb lit above his head, he gave Crowley the run-down. Heaven and Hell would _not_ be forgiving; since they stopped Armageddon and the war and all. That means Hellfire and Holy Water might be a completely viable option as the only way the angels and demons could get rid of them. That means, if they switch bodies, Aziraphale will be taken to Hell for Crowley and can survive the Holy Water, while Crowley can go to Heaven and survive the Hellfire in Aziraphale’s stead. After some consideration, Crowley agreed, and they spent the rest of the night learning to pass as the other for their superiors. 

Crowley’s body took a little practice to get used to – his hips seemed to have been made by someone who had no idea what hips were, and therefore liked to swing around wildly. Since he had been a snake before turning into his human form, it’s an entirely viable option. That being said, it took some time to harness them and to figure out how Crowley even walked like this, but considering that all of the demons looked absolutely terrified that nothing happened to him in the Holy Water, he’d say he did an excellent job. The sunglasses were a requirement to wear when in Crowley’s body too, but they distorted his world, making everything so dark and gloomy. He doesn’t know how Crowley can stand the world this dark, and he couldn’t wait to be back in his own body. 

They told each other they would meet in Berkeley Square after everything, so once Aziraphale had Crowley’s clothes back on and was up the elevator back to Earth, he beelined for it, going as fast as he could. A glance around the square revealed he was the first one back – he couldn’t find the starch white hair or tartan bowtie that belonged to him. He settles on a bench in the middle of the park, placing his hands in his lap as he waits.

When the flash of cream from his usual suit jacket catches his eye, and he sees Crowley stalking over to him, he can barely contain his excitement. He wants to jump up; he wants to run over to Crowley and embrace him in his arms, holding onto his – friend – now that their plan seemingly worked, and they’re both still alive. He can just see them going to the Ritz after they switch back, drinking champagne and eating something decadent as they retell the stories of what happened this morning.

He smiles at Crowley as he approaches, but the smile falters a bit when Crowley stops a few feet away and doesn’t sit next to him. There must be a perfectly good reason for this, so he remains seated and waits expectantly. Aziraphale looks into his own face, where Crowley is currently displaying a lot of emotions Aziraphale can recognize all too well. Confusion, pain, and – regret.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley finally says, but the word doesn’t hit Aziraphale right. Whenever Crowley usually says angel to him, it sounds more – fond. He chalks it up to the fact that it was Aziraphale’s voice saying it, so of course, hearing his own voice wouldn’t be the same.

“Hello, dear. Did everything go okay?”

Crowley sighs and _winces_, as if something is hurting him. Aziraphale stands up, alarmed, ready to rush over to him and heal him, but Crowley holds up a hand to stop him, so he remains by the bench. 

“I–” more emotions pass over Crowley’s face as he tries to find the right words. The only ones Aziraphale can see are negative – they all point to something having gone wrong.

“My dear, what on Earth happened?”

“I’m leaving,” Crowley blurts out suddenly. 

Aziraphale freezes, breath catching in his throat. His heart starts to hammer faster, rising in his chest higher and higher until it too is stuck in his throat, choking him. He swallows it down before weakly saying, “What?”

“Earth is – Earth is – I can’t stay here. And I can’t go back to Hell either.”

“But – my dear boy, there is nowhere else for you to go! We just spent all that time saving Earth, what could be so wrong with here that you’d… that you’d want to…” He trails off as he realizes the one place left that he _could_ go, if he keeps Aziraphale’s body. “Oh. No, Crowley, I–” He takes a step forward, but Crowley takes a step back at the same time.

“I have to go, Aziraphale. Back to Heaven.”

The use of his actual name cuts deep in his chest; an icy dagger sucking the hope and joy out and leaving only betrayal and confusion in its place. Tears well up in his eyes, hidden behind the sunglasses he used to adore. His voice breaks as he whispers a simple, “Why?”

Crowley takes a steadying breath before saying, “Goodbye.” Aziraphale starts to run to him but he disappears in a blinding white flash, leaving a hole in Aziraphale’s heart. He crumples to the ground, landing hard on his knees where Crowley had just been, sobbing into Crowley’s hands – his hands, now, since he’s trapped in the demon’s body.

He cries and cries until his body can’t produce any more tears, an invisible force field around him to force the humans not to notice him. Once the tears are gone, he’s left with throaty, choked off sobs and gasps, trying to wrap his head around why his best friend – the person he had secretly loved – would betray him like this. As Crowley had said just this week, they had been friends for 6000 years now. It wasn’t like Crowley to do this, but here they were now; Crowley was gone to Heaven with a stolen body and Aziraphale was forced to stay on Earth with a broken heart.


	2. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, the Crowley chapters (until we get close to the end) are going to hold the actual plot, and the Aziraphale chapters are mostly a "what's going on while plot is happening" and "angst"

Suddenly, Crowley found himself very glad that he usually wears sunglasses everywhere. 

Of course, he’s not the one currently wearing them, because he’s not the one in his body. That would be Aziraphale, hiding behind them as Crowley tells him he’s leaving. The sunglasses make it easier to leave; eyes he knows have to be full of tears and anguish are hidden behind their dark lenses. He knows he wouldn't last against that. When Aziraphale’s voice broke, it was almost enough for Crowley to give up and stay; to capture him in his arms and apologize for thinking of leaving him. Switch their bodies back, maybe go for some food at the Ritz, see if Aziraphale will let him come back to the newly refurbished bookshop and share a few drinks. But his urge to keep Aziraphale safe won out, and he left the angel before he could change his mind. 

He reappears in his apartment after leaving the park, throwing his hands out for balance and wobbling a little before quickly sealing the door off with a magic sigil, just in case Aziraphale tries to get in. He needs the angel to stay away for a while, and can only hope that once he figures this out, he can get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness; to rekindle their friendship he’s sure he’s lost. He’ll understand if Aziraphale won’t forgive him, though. At least they’ll both be safe. 

See, Crowley didn’t actually want to return to Heaven. He was going to have to, yes, but it wasn’t the real reason he has kept Aziraphale’s body. He may not have meant to Fall, but he has come to terms with that, more or less. It turns out, letting go of something like that instead of holding a grudge helps you grow or something. Maybe that’s why all the other demons are heartless. It’s not like keeping Aziraphale’s body changes anything about him, either – he’s still a demon, and there is no way to reverse that. But there is a way to stop the reverse from happening; to stop a certain angel from Falling. At least, he hopes there is.

It was Crowley’s biggest fear. They tried the Hellfire to get rid of Aziraphale once and for all, which clearly didn’t work. But, making an angel Fall was another form of punishment that they could try. They need the Almighty’s approval before they can make an angel Fall, which might be the only reason Aziraphale hasn’t yet, but Crowley can’t be sure that it won’t happen. It’s not like She’s going to answer him if he asked. She’s never answered his questions. Anyway, Crowley couldn’t willingly put Aziraphale in harm's way, which included letting him help with the plan. Hence the elaborate excuse he made in Berkeley Square. At least if all else fails and Aziraphale does Fall, it will be Crowley Falling again. His angel won’t have to deal with the pain.

He runs a hand through his short, curly hair, thinking of all the ways he could have made it easier to break the news. He had to show Aziraphale he was back, or else Aziraphale would think their plan didn’t work, and Crowley was in trouble. There had to be some way he could have done that without causing Aziraphale to cry, but that’s in the past now. No use dwelling on it. He gets distracted by the softness of Aziraphale’s hair – the same hair he’s daydreamed about burying his hands in for millennia. He pulls his hand back out quickly, bringing himself back to reality and hurrying off to his office to start planning.

He scatters papers into the air, watching them fly around as they form a board for him. It won’t be easy to fool the angels, so he rubs his hands together as he stares at the blank expanse set up before him, words starting to write themselves on the pages. The plants in the next room stretch their leaves out to watch, curious.

Crowley loses track of time – he could have spent a couple of hours, or a couple of days, or a couple of weeks – either way, the papers are now completely covered in unintelligible writing, strange diagrams, a few angelic photographs, and seemingly random red yarn strung between different points. 

As he stands back and reads over the notes one last time, he nods, thinking there’s nothing better he can do. With a snap, the paper board folds itself up, depositing itself in a desk drawer before Crowley locks it up. He walks with a purpose out of the flat, passing frames currently flipped to face the wall – frames that hold mirrors. The seal breaks when he opens the door, but that doesn’t matter – he has a mission to accomplish, and he won’t be back in the flat for a while.

The office building that acts as an entrance to both Heaven and Hell towers in front of him, and if he cranes his neck and looks close enough, the top of the building flickers in and out, reaching up through the clouds. He takes a deep breath and enters the door to Heaven, focusing on staying above the water and not sinking into Hell. One he makes it to the escalator up, standing on solid ground again, he relaxes, letting his posture settle into a tall and confident look. He was entering through the front door, after all. He needed his entrance to be perfect. 

There’s a single desk seating an angel when he steps off of the escalator. The angel is too busy with paperwork to notice him, so he steps in front of the desk and clears his throat to gain their attention.

They look up, and their eyes grow wide. “Aziraphale! To what do we owe this – pleasure?”

He smiles. Word traveled around about their little Hellfire stunt. That should make things easier. “I’d like to speak with Michael as soon as I can, please.”


	3. Aziraphale

When Aziraphale can finally muster the strength to stand again, he does so shakily. His glasses hide his red and puffy eyes from the prying onlooker as he wipes his nose with the back of his hand.

He’s quite glad for the sunglasses now. Earlier, he wanted to be rid of them because they made the world too dark. Now, they don’t make the world dark enough. People pass him as they go about their normal daily lives, bees buzz around happily, and a nightingale sings in a nearby tree. It’s all too nice, too _cheerful_, when he can feel the icy tendrils spreading throughout his body at Crowley’s betrayal. He never once thought Crowley would be capable of such a thing – not even when they first met on the garden wall in Eden. Apparently, he majorly misjudged the demon. 

He slowly walks his way through London towards Soho, forcing himself to drag his feet towards the bookshop; towards the one thing left that might give him comfort. Music drifts out of the shops with doors open, taking in the pleasant weather from outside. _Love of my life, you’ve hurt me._ Great. Aziraphale has Crowley’s Queen curse now. His eyes linger on every content couple walking by with their hands intertwined – his mind lingers on all the times he’s walked next to Crowley and fought the urge to do the same. How foolish it was, now that he looks back. To think a demon could be capable of love. To think a demon was worth loving. _Love of my life, don’t leave me._

The bookstore stands across the street as he looks up at it, and he’d have never known it burned down if Crowley hadn’t told him. The last ‘0’ in ‘1800’ was still peeling off of the faded red paint, and the door still had that chip in the wood from when Crowley was sloshed.

Look, there his mind goes again about Crowley. It’s hard not to – they’ve been around each other since the Beginning, so there are signs of him everywhere. Including his blackened nails as Aziraphale reaches out for the door handle.

The bell jingles merrily as he opens the door, and the familiar smell of old books and ink permeates the air. But it isn’t the same. He takes his time walking in, judging every bookshelf, examining every stray stack of old scrolls and tomes, and determining that everything seemed to be in tip-top condition. There were a few new additions to his collection, most of them children’s books, but he couldn’t bring himself to bother Adam about it. He didn’t feel like trying to talk to anyone.

He invests the time to check each individual book just to be sure they’re alright, pulling slightly too large white gloves onto his hands as he sorts through everything. He purposefully skips over the few books that were gifts from Crowley – they bring back memories he’d rather keep buried. 

Aziraphale spends days, weeks even, going through everything, trying to keep himself busy and force himself to not think of – him. He doesn’t open the shop once. People are too much to deal with. He plays the same Bach record on repeat until he has to miracle the needle to fix itself because it wore down, and then stops playing music altogether when it starts singing _I Was Born To Love You._ Only once everything had been meticulously looked over does he let himself think about anything else. His first thought is food. His next thought is alcohol. Ice-cream and whiskey it is.

As an ethereal being, he was lucky enough to own a fridge that would do what he expected it to do. Right now, he expected it to be full of crepe-flavored ice-cream and alcohol, so he opens the door and finds exactly that. He takes one of each and closes the door with his foot, realizing he still needs a spoon to eat with. The only problem with that is the mirror he had hung in the middle of the room, which of course, doesn’t let him walk past without looking. He grips the bottle of whiskey tighter as he looks at Crowley’s face staring back at him, the usually perfect red hair now a mop sticking out all over the place. After a few more seconds, the mirror shatters, pieces of glass falling out and scattering the floor, leaving only a few stray shards that are too small to show anything significant. Aziraphale opens the bottle and takes a large swig.


	4. Crowley

Angel waiting rooms suck. It has a nice view, Crowley will give it that, but that’s it. And all of Heaven has the same view, so it’s not even explicitly tied to the waiting room. Every few minutes, he has to shift in the most uncomfortable chair he has ever been in. It _might_ be worse than horses in his book. The small, twelve-inch screen in the corner has _The Sound of Music_ playing on a non-stop loop. The tables are littered with copies of _The Celestial Observer_, with dates ranging from six months ago to 100 years ago. All the articles are cheerful and uplifting, and usually, bragging about some miracle or another one of the angels performed.

Apparently, even though his Hellfire stunt did scare them, it didn’t scare them enough for them to make him a priority. At least, not to the archangels. If he has to listen to Maria sing a list of her favorite things again or teaching the kids to sing one more time, he will vomit. His leg bounces up and down impatiently, wishing he knew how much time has passed on Earth – time is abstract in Heaven and Hell, so it may have been a few minutes if he was lucky, but it could have been a few years as well.

“Aziraphale,” a cool voice rings out from behind him.

“Michael,” he greets as he stands and turns. Finally.

“What do you want?” she asks impatiently, pursing her lips and crossing her arms.

He looks around at the open waiting room and the shifting lone angel in the corner. “May we talk in a, uh, more private setting?”

She rolls her eyes and gestures with her head, turning around and letting the clicking of her heels echo in the empty hallways as she leads them to her office. 

“Have a seat,” she tells him as she moves to the stylized, high backed chair behind her desk. The chair he is offered looks slightly more comfortable than the waiting room ones, so he does sit, daintily placing his hands in his lap. “Go on, then.”

He clears his throat. “Right. I had a question. You had a contact in – on the other side, did you not?” Crowley found Ligur on the phone in the middle of a suspicious call once, and when both the angels and demons came after him and Aziraphale at the same time, he put two and two together. His detailed planning board had a sizeable section dedicated to trying to figure out which angel would have had contact with Hell, and when he remembered Michael was missing from the attempt on Aziraphale’s life, he figured she was his best shot.

“Why would that matter to you?”

“I will take that as a yes. I have been wondering, then, why was what I did so bad and you don’t even get a warning? If all we’re doing is fraternizing with the enemy–”

“I was not fraternizing!” She interrupts rudely.

He purses his lips. “Well, whatever you wish to call it. Should I have used a different word?”

“We attempted to burn you in Hellfire, Aziraphale, because you stopped Armageddon. You went directly against The Great Plan, and you betrayed your fellow angels. I did it for strategic purposes.”

Crowley frowns. He had forgotten about the Armageddon part in his planning. Probably because Adam did most of the work anyway. “Right.”

Michael sighs. “Is that all, Aziraphale? Some of us are still trying to clean up the mess you and your – _boyfriend_ – made, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t continue to waste my time.”

“He’s not my – you thought he was my boyfriend?” He hesitates before snapping out of it. “There has to be some reason you have a demon’s number and have called him,” he insists.

“Ligur and I were merely acquaintances until your companion killed him. I don’t remember who made contact first, but all I know is that it was completely accidental, and not anything like the relationship you have with that demon. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She stands again and opens the door for him to leave.

“But–”

“Out,” she says with a glare, causing Crowley to gulp and give a weak nod before leaving the office. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that Michael was the one that fought Lucifer and cast him out of Heaven, so he figures it’s better to leave now while she’s letting him. Things could go a lot worse if he doesn’t. The door slams shut as soon as he leaves. So, that plan didn’t work out too well. It definitely could have gone better. At least the portion of his planning he had spent figuring out Ligur and Michael were contacting each other was not the entirety of his plans, or he’d be fucked. There were plenty of other back up plans he can try still.

He straightens out his bowtie and pulls his vest down, stepping off and away from the door as he goes to his next stop – Gabriel. As the leader of the archangels, it would take a lot more convincing – but it will work all that much better if it goes according to plan. 

Gabriel's office is empty, which isn’t surprising with how many angels he’s been tasked to boss around. Time for a sightseeing tour around Heaven to find him, since it’s been refurbished since he was there last – before the Fall, that is. He doesn’t mind too much. While being able to get back to Aziraphale as quickly as possible is ideal, anything is better than hearing that nun singing about climbing mountains again. He has half a mind to burn the program in Aziraphale’s shop when he gets back, but his mind briefly flashes the sight of the store aflame in front of his eyes again, when he thought Aziraphale was gone. Best not to, then. Ripping it up will still have the same effect.


	5. Aziraphale

It’s a few weeks before Aziraphale leaves the shop again, trying to force himself to do something. He had seen an advertisement for a particularly rare book that would fit quite nicely in his collection, so it seemed the perfect thing to try and get him back into the regular routine, though of course, that wouldn’t include –

He’s a little tipsy as the door closes behind him, but that’s just the new normal, ever since he spent the time to look over his books. He made sure to keep himself from drinking too much, but he’d never let himself sober up completely. Some things made coping easier. Since he’s tipsy, when the shop owner next door flags him down, he actually stops instead of brushing her off as usual. He didn’t want to make friends with the nearby shop owners in case they’d start asking too many personal questions.

“Hello!” she greets cheerfully, pausing from cleaning the shop windows. Aziraphale affixes her with a frown and stays silent. He adjusts the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose so they aren’t sitting crooked anymore. “I know you come around here a lot, so I was wondering if everything’s okay with the bookshop owner? He hasn’t opened at all for a few months now, and I haven’t seen him around either, so I was a little worried.”

Aziraphale freezes. The answer to that question is simple; when not talking to a human. They don’t understand that bodies are just vessels for occult and ethereal beings that they can change at will. She doesn’t know she is actually talking to the bookshop owner. He’s just in a different body because he tried to help save – “He’s fine. Wonderful. Absolutely tickety-boo.” He turns back around and the bookshop’s doors are already open for him, sealing him back in the dusty gloom without acquiring his new book. He needs another drink. 

He sits down in his worn-out chair and picks up the glass bottle that’s earned a permanent residence on the table. It never runs out of alcohol, and always has the type that Aziraphale wants. Right now, it’s hard whiskey. Makes it easier to get drunk, especially as an otherworldly being. 

There are glass shards on the ground nearby as he drinks, with a near-empty frame adorning the wall above them. It used to be another mirror. A dark blanket drapes over one of the bookshelves, hiding any of – his – gifts. And he keeps on drinking. He peruses his books, looking for something to read, but it seems all he can find are romance novels. Definitely not what he wants to read. Even Winnie The Pooh wouldn’t help cheer him now, as he passes over the series. Any prophetic books would just make him wish they had warned him about -

So he keeps on drinking.


	6. Crowley

Crowley hopes he doesn’t look strange. Heaven has changed so much; he doesn’t remember where anything is, so finding Gabriel is taking longer than he thought it would. On top of that, he’s having trouble remembering his plans, so his mind is a little preoccupied. Talking to Michael failed. That’s on him. He remembers Gabriel was his plan after that, but what does he say? “Hi, Gabriel, please don’t make me Fall.” “Hello, Gabriel, can I expect not to Fall, or should I be planning on it to happen any second?” He grimaces – Aziraphale wouldn’t have forgotten the plans.

“What are you doing here?”

Uh-oh. He wheels around to see Uriel marching towards him in the otherwise empty hall. 

“Uriel!” he greets, a nervous smile spreading across his face. “What a – pleasant surprise!” He has to stop himself from sneering after using that word.

“It’s Heaven, Aziraphale. I’m always here. You, however, aren’t.”

“Oh, right.” He curses himself inwardly. If he lets it slip that he’s not actually Aziraphale –

“What are you doing here?” they repeat.

“I was looking – hoping – to talk to Gabriel.”

They sneer and take a threatening step forward. “What makes you think he’s going to talk to you? You helped stop Armageddon and therefore averted the war. You’re a traitor to Heaven, and the only reason you’re still alive is because you somehow survived the Hellfire.”

Crowley holds his ground and looks up into their eyes. “Well, if you could just point me in the right direction –”

“Gabriel’s busy. He isn’t available to meet with anyone outside of an appointment, and his appointment book is currently full. Even if you had an appointment, or he was free, he wouldn’t meet with the likes of you.” They look him up and down in disdain before walking off again.

Crowley frowns and adjusts his bowtie. He’d take it off if it weren’t an essential part of Aziraphale’s outfit; it itches like hell. Not like Hell, of course. That would be a real problem for sure. But he really can’t stand it.

If he wasn’t going to get any angelic help, he’ll find Gabriel himself. He can wait to figure out what to say for when he gets there. It’s probably better that way. If there’s one thing Crowley is good at, it’s dropping in to someplace uninvited. He still remembers the shocked faces on those Nazis when he interrupted their meeting, trying to swindle his angel. The angel. Aziraphale. Damn it; he can’t call Aziraphale his. It doesn’t matter how much he wants to.

Anyway, whoever is meeting with Gabriel can deal with it. He’ll burst into the meeting, say what he needs to say, and keep repeating himself until Gabriel listens. That bastard would never get his hands dirty, so he wouldn’t try to get rid of Crowley.

Backtracking to Gabriel’s office, Crowley breaks in and searches the room. His lip curls at all the medals hanging on the wall, and the pens immaculately lined up on his desk. He shifts one of the pens ever so slightly, just to piss Gabriel off when he gets back. The one thing in the room that isn’t perfect and clean is the lopsided stack of paperwork piling up in his inbox, which probably means he’s been busy for a while. No one likes paperwork, but Crowley thinks Gabriel would have at least straightened the pile out if he was here, since the rest of his office is pristine.

Usually, it is deemed unethical to dig through someone’s personal things, even if it’s just in an office, but demons have never cared about ethics. Crowley might not technically be a demon anymore, after betraying Hell to stop the apocalypse, but that doesn’t mean he has to be a goody-two-shoes now. Old habits die hard, if ever, so he dives straight into Gabriel’s desk drawers and filing cabinets.

For an angel, Gabriel is extremely vain. It’s borderline sinful, in Crowley’s books. There’s an entire drawer dedicated to paperwork on the different creatures Gabriel helped create. Things like the platypus and a lot of deep-sea creatures the humans haven’t even found yet. Another drawer holds all the miracles he’s ever done, with a special folder dedicated to Mary. Crowley gently ignores that one – he can only imagine how the virgin mother of Jesus would have reacted to see Gabriel of all angels appear before her, and then tell her she was going to give birth to Jesus, even though she never – did the deed. He shivers involuntarily and shuts the drawer quickly.

There’s a calendar shoved into one of the filing cabinets, and Crowley thinks he’s found the jackpot until he realizes not only is it about fifty years old, but it’s just one of those wall calendars that have different pictures for every month. And each picture is Gabriel posing with different flowers. Seriously, Crowley would bet money on Gabriel Falling because of his vanity. Vanity could be considered pride, which is one of the seven deadly sins if Crowley remembers the list correctly. By all means, Gabriel should have Fallen already.

He’s close to giving up when he finally happens across a giant, leather-bound book hidden in the bottom of a filing cabinet. Carefully pulling it out, Crowley drops the heavy book on Gabriel’s desk and sits in his heavenly chair, opening the daunting, yellowing pages and flipping towards the end. The pages are newer here, but it’s not easy to find where the current appointments are. Everything seems to be written in code, and while around 6000 years worth of appointments is enough to go through and break the code, Crowley really doesn’t want to get caught. The last page in the book has a lot of the same symbol repeating through different slots. It looks oddly familiar to Crowley, but he can’t quite place it…

He shakes his head and closes the book, returning it haphazardly to the drawer it belonged in before leaving the office. If he couldn’t figure out how to get to Gabriel, then he’d find a way to sneak into the important office – the office of the Fallen. He can intercept the paperwork there, or otherwise make sure it doesn’t go through. Should be simple enough. Heaven doesn’t like to lock doors.


	7. Aziraphale

The bookshop doors stay closed and locked. Aziraphale hasn’t gone near them in a while. All the shades are closed; all the curtains are drawn. The only light comes from a single lamp, but even that has been dimmed by a thin sheet haphazardly thrown over it.

Anyone who has ever been in the shop can tell you it smells. The source of the smell doesn’t technically exist, but nothing makes it go away. Aziraphale had developed it in the early days of the shop as an extra way to try and ward off customers. It’s a permanent fixture in the shop, just like the smell of dust and old books and ink. Now though, something else mingles with it in the air. To the normal person, it doesn’t make a difference. There’s a smell in the air, and it’s bad. But if someone has a particularly keen sense of smell, they might be able to tell that, amongst the usual, unidentifiable bad smell, there’s a hint of stale alcohol, and possibly even old food.

Nothing’s helping. His mind constantly wanders to the what happened, the what might have been, the what did he do wrong…

He’s tried everything he can to keep his mind from thinking of – him, hoping once he does he can go back to a normal life, but what was normal when he’s spent the last 6000 years with -

Apparently, it was going to take something else to keep his mind off of – 

He remembers the small flat upstairs, full of other books and a small, hardly used bed he had for late, drunken nights when they were too drunk to be driving and he wouldn’t let –

He drifts up the stairs, tugging at the gray necktie to pull the knot loose. He eyes the bed as he pulls the jacket and vest off, tossing them haphazardly onto a chair before flopping face-first into the feathered pillows. He’s never been one to sleep before, but, as he closes his eyes, he thinks it sounds rather nice right now.


	8. Crowley

One thing in common between Heaven and Hell – they don’t keep track of their bloody paperwork. 

The office dedicated to paperwork for the Fallen is empty of angels, but Crowley knows the one in Hell doesn’t have any workers either. Once the paperwork was finished for the first Fall, no one worked in the office, for anything that did come in was few and far between. What it was not empty of, however, was paperwork. There were files for each of the ten million demons, and there was no sense of organization. If there had been, he could have gone into the drawer for ‘A,’ seen if Aziraphale had a file, and then gone from there. But the files aren’t even organized by rank – the first filing cabinet he had opened contained the folder on Dagon, and directly after, the one he vaguely remembers as Eric, the demon who brought Heaven the Hellfire. They weren’t anywhere close to each other in the rankings department. He’s pretty sure Eric was somehow nicknamed ‘Disposable Demon.’ He definitely wouldn’t compare to the Lord of the Files, Master of Torments. 

Its lack of organization causes more work and frustration for him as he searches every single desk, drawer, and filing cabinet. He found folders on demons he didn’t even know exist. He found Ligur’s folder and blanched, hastily replacing it and moving on. He was very tempted to read Hastur’s, and his curiosity led him to open Beezlebub’s, but he didn’t look at it enough to learn anything.

He had trouble finding his own file, even. It was on one of the desks, probably from a recent update to it. When you have a demon who suddenly can survive Holy Water, he imagines it deserves an update. At least just a look through his file, even, to see how he would have survived it. They certainly wouldn’t have found out that it was actually Aziraphale down there, inhabiting his body. Still inhabiting his body. Shit, he’s taking too long. He starts getting anxious, wondering how Aziraphale is doing.

A quick breath focuses him again as he looks at the worn vanilla folder in front of him, it’s label scribbled on because ‘Crawly’ was crossed out and replaced with ‘Crowley.’ If he couldn’t find something on Aziraphale, maybe his folder will give him a hint on where to find it.

He flips it open, startling at the number of pictures decorating the inside. It seemed they needed a picture every time he had changed his hair, probably so they could identify him. This means it was dotted with headshots of him throughout the years, including one of his armor and one when he was nannying Warlock. They really didn’t miss a single one. The paperwork was scribbled over numerous times, most of them changing his name over. There was even one crossed out ‘Ashtoreth’ he found, which means they probably started switching it over not long before he gave up the nanny disguise. 

He gets so wrapped up in the file; he almost missed the loud footsteps echoing off of the walls nearby. He startles and closes the folder before throwing himself under the desk to hide. Sure, he was in Aziraphale’s body, but it would be pretty clear what he was doing there, so it would be easier to hide and wait for them to leave. 

Two people enter the room; he can tell that. And he can also sense that they exude an air of power that sends shivers down his spine, so it’s probably two archangels. Their footsteps slow, so he waits with bated breath. 

“I thought he zaid he would be here.”

“You know how archangels are, Lord. They’re always late.”

Crowley covers his mouth to hide a gasp. It wasn’t archangels. It was Beelzebub and Hastur. What are they doing in Heaven?

“Here they come,” Hastur says as more footsteps echo. Crowley can feel two more beings enter the room. 

“Beelzebub,” Gabriel greets. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d hate to rearrange my appointment book; you already take up so much of it.”

Oh. No wonder the one symbol looked familiar. It was probably Beelzebub’s demonic sigil.

“I zee you brought a lackey. Remind me why we had to meet here?”

“It’s not like you didn’t either,” Sandalphon says. “And we’re meeting here because no one’s ever in here, so no one will interrupt us.”

“Of course. We don’t want to make enemies out of you again when you’ve been so helpful, and we’d hate for interruptions.” Crowley can practically hear the smile in Gabriel’s voice.

Gabriel clears his throat before continuing. “Have you found anything?”

“We’ve drawn a blank in any other way to kill a demon,” Beelzebub starts. Crowley gulps. “But we’ve decided to give up on the demon Crowley. He may have averted the war, but hiz actions were zinful, zo we can allow that to pazz. Az long as he ztayz out of Hell, we zhall ignore him.”

“Well, whatever suits your fancy, I guess. We, however, cannot allow Aziraphale to – continue. As you said, they sinned. But when the paperwork to make him Fall started, it was denied.”

The news makes Crowley’s heart beat faster. He should be ecstatic – if it was denied, that means the Almighty won’t allow it. He’s not. The oncoming ‘but’ hangs in the air like a lead balloon, filling him with dread.

“Yez. We found zomething you can uze. If you can find it, of courze.”

There’s a pause, filled with the light crinkling of paper.

“It’s a special substance,” Hastur explains. “It supposedly kills angels. If you can find it and cover a blade or something with it, it should do the trick nicely.”

Crowley’s eyes are open wide in shock as his heart hammers up into his throat. He spent all this time trying to keep Aziraphale from Falling, went through the pain of leaving him behind, crushed, only to find he was never in danger of Falling. He was in danger of something much, much worse. He briefly remembers as he stares at his leg that he’s in Aziraphale’s body, so maybe they’d attack him instead. He’s not sure he should let them, though. If it can kill an angel, who knows what will happen if he gets hit.

“Thank you,” Gabriel says. “I’ll send some angels out now. It shouldn’t be hard.”

“Good luck,” Beezlebub says, and footsteps retreat, leaving Crowley alone under the desk on the verge of a panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say... Cliffhanger? ;)


	9. Aziraphale

The blanket is a nice touch. Once he finally mustered the strength to move again, he rolled himself up in it before drifting back to sleep. It had a firm, comforting presence. It was an everlasting presence, too. He could decide when it leaves; if it ever leaves. Not like how –

The outside world is cruel and unforgiving. Here, in his blanket burrito, he can reach everything he needs when he’s awake – his alcohol and his food. It can’t be taken from him, and he can revel in it for as long as he wants. He wiggles over onto his belly, face in the pillow, and falls asleep again.


	10. Crowley

Crowley waits until he’s sure he’s alone again before removing himself from under the desk. Panicked, he rushes out of Heaven, careful not to let any angel see him, lest they capture him until they find this substance. Not only does he not know what it will do to him, but it will uncover their ruse, and possibly throw them into even deeper trouble.

Rushing through the streets of London, he asks a passerby, “What day is it?”

“September 30th,” the man says, not looking up from his nose buried in his phone.

September 30th, not bad. Just a couple of weeks. Belatedly, he yells after him, “Wait, what year?”

“What are you, stupid?” he calls back. “2019.”

His heart drops. That means Armageddon wasn’t just a couple of weeks ago. It was a whole _year_ and a few weeks ago. What’s happened since he’s disappeared?

He rushes through the streets; there isn’t enough time to search for the Bentley. For all he knows, the angels could already be here, looking for Aziraphale. There are a few changes to the storefronts as he hurries by, but he barely pays attention to them. Once the bookshop looms into view, he stops short suddenly, causing the person behind him to run into him and mutter a few choice words. They don’t register in Crowley’s mind, though, as his focus is too fixated on the bookshop.

All the curtains are drawn, and clearly have been for a while, with the thick dust and cobwebs adorning them. He can see that from across the street. A few of the windows are smashed, too – but they open up into the shop. There is no attempt at repairing them or boarding them up. While Aziraphale always liked the sign’s letters to peel a little, so it showed some age, now everything was peeling. The columns in the front, the red paint along the walls. The sign is now reduced to “Fel n o entry 0.” It seems the sign is trying to tell people to avoid the place. Especially because the ‘n’ used to be a ‘k.’ 

The door opens for Crowley as he crosses the street, the old bell tinkling out of tune. Crowley takes a step backward as the smell of alcohol hits him before worry takes over as he enters the shop. Shards of glass litter the floor but Crowley quickly learns it’s not just from the windows. Anything even remotely mirror-esque is shattered, and no one bothered to clean it up. More dust than usual clutters the shelves, and the books look like they haven’t been touched in a while.

“Aziraphale?” he calls out softly, but he gains no response. He follows his nose, carefully walking through the shop as the scent of alcohol grows stronger. Once he’s upstairs, he freezes in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. Empty bottles and plates strew the carpet, and an odd, misshapen lump lays in a bundle of blankets in the middle of the bed. Picking his way carefully through the room, he pauses before the bed.

“Aziraphale?” he repeats softly. There is no response. Just when he’s about to ask again, a muffled groan emerges from the middle of the blankets.

“Go away.” His voice croaks with disuse.

“Aziraphale, its–”

“Just shut up.” It sounds strange, coming from the angel. Even if it is Crowley’s voice saying it. “Stop tormenting me. I know you’re not real. He’s not coming back.”

“But–”

“Go!” He rolls over, and the tuft of red hair that falls out of the blankets shows Crowley his back is now facing him.

Crowley sinks to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. “What have I done?”

Aziraphale remains silent.

“I – I should never have left you, angel.” The tears start to fall down his cheeks. “I – _fuck,_ why was I so dumb? Leaving you like that, thinking it would help you rather than harm you.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m such a _fucking idiot!_ Of course leaving you would – would – would have consequences. I just – just – just never – never thought! I never think!” A choked off sob escapes his lips. “I should have – I should have stayed by your side, ‘till the end.”

A touch on his shoulder causes Crowley to jerk back, his head snapping up to see Aziraphale staring at him. “Crowley? Is – is that really you?”

Another sob escapes his lips. “Yes, angel. It’s me. I’m back.” He looks terrible. Crowley’s flame-red hair has dulled closer to brown, and it now tangles up as it hangs low, almost to the shoulders. Somehow, even with all this alcohol and food it seems he has consumed, he remains skinny as ever, and his bloodshot eyes are sunken into the pale white skin.

The corners of his lips tremble as if he can’t decide what to feel. “Why? I thought you hated – Earth.”

Crowley shakes his head reverently. “I’m – I fucked up. I’m so fucking _sorry_, angel. I – I just wanted to protect you. I never meant for this to happen.”

“Why’d you come back?”

“I didn’t want you to Fall, angel. That’s a pain I can’t wish on anyone, especially not someone I lo–” he chokes on his words. “Especially not you. But I wanted to keep you here, safe, and not worry about me, and – and – I didn’t think, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” 

“You – you came back to me.”

A new wave of tears fall from his eyes, and Aziraphale, the bastard he is, reaches out and gently wipes them away. Crowley nods furiously. “Yes, yes, angel, I did. I should have never left.” He sniffs. “Heaven’s out to kill you, Aziraphale. Well, me, more likely. Since I’m still in your body, because I _fucked up–_”

“Stop using such vulgar language, dear.” It’s weak and barely there, but another sob escapes Crowley as he pulls away and averts his gaze. To see Aziraphale look at him that way still, to hear him talk like _that_–

He sniffs and wipes his nose. “Heaven is coming. I don’t know how soon. Beezlebub gave them a hint on how to kill angels. I’m sure as soon as they find it, they’ll be here. I – I don’t know what to do. I can’t lose you, I can’t _do this again–_”

“Then we’ll figure it out together. If you’ll let me.”

Crowley looks up at him through tear-blurred eyes, whispering, “How can you forgive so easily? Look what I’ve done to you. How do you forgive this?”

Aziraphale sits up for the first time in a while. “I don’t know that I _can _forgive this. It’s been a year, Crowley. It’s not something that I can easily forget or recover from. But you are the most trustworthy being I’ve ever met. It's why I couldn't believe you'd leave. Why it hurt so much that you left. I don’t know that I can forgive you for this, but I believe in second chances, and I’m willing to give you one, if you’ll allow it.”

“If I’ll allow it,” Crowley mumbles. “Like I’m the one who needs to allow it. Like I’m not the one that – _hurt you–”_ he coughs as he tries to hold in a new wave of tears.

Offering a weak smile, Aziraphale says, “I have an idea, but I need your help. Care to lend a few miracles?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realized I don't use italics enough in my writing. It really adds to that angsty feel, doesn't it?


	11. Aziraphale

It was a long shot, but if the plan worked, it would be excellent. Crowley tried to switch their bodies back, but Aziraphale shook his head. He still needed Crowley’s for the plan.

He had Crowley fix the bookshop. He didn’t have the energy to, and he needed to save it. Mirrors were repaired, the extra dust was miracled away, the windows were fixed and cleaned, and everything else was cleaned up until it was back to normal. Crowley used a miracle to make Aziraphale look better, too – there was no miracling his emotions to be better, but he could fake it enough for now. They kept the long hair, though. Aziraphale said to keep it long. He secretly likes Crowley better with longer hair. Instead, Crowley ties it up for him, to keep it out of his face. It feels – nice.

Now, Aziraphale lounges in a chair right in line with the doors, trying to imitate Crowley the best he can. He’s left the sunglasses on the table next to him, just to be sure he can see. A sword rests next to him, the tip on the ground and the pommel leaning against the arm of the chair. 

“Are you sure about this?” Crowley asks, worry drawn across his face. 

Aziraphale offers him that weak smile again. “Everything will be absolutely tickety-boo. Just – promise to stay in the other room?”

Crowley nods. He was listening to every word Aziraphale had to say. He probably didn’t want to upset Aziraphale. He then walks to the backroom, sitting in a chair at an angle that he can still see the front door.

Surprisingly, they don’t have to wait long. The angels were pretty fast.

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale greets as the angels barge into the shop. “Sandalphon. Uriel. Miss my pretty face that much?”

Crowley chokes on his tea in the next room.

“Crowley,” Gabriel frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not the one barging into the closed shop, am I?” His hand moves to rest on the sword, drawing the attention of the angels. 

“Are you threatening us, demon? You know that normal swords don’t work on angels. Only flaming ones. And demons can’t wield flaming swords.”

“Ex-demon,” he corrects. “No normal demon can survive Holy Water, can they? What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Nothing that concerns you. We have some business with that ex-angel behind you, if you don’t mind.” He gestures to Crowley, who gives a smile and a little wave, but otherwise stays still.

“That business doesn’t happen to be trying to kill him, hmmm? I don’t think I can allow that.”

“We’re not asking for permission–” Uriel starts, but Aziraphale cuts them off.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand.” He picks the sword up as he stands, concentrating so it ignites. It’s not a hard trick to remember when it is his weapon of choice. “If you want to get him, you’ll have to go through me.”

The angels reveal swords they had been hiding. “You shouldn’t be able to wield that!” Gabriel says. Aziraphale can feel the dangerous energy dripping off of the swords.

“I’m not a demon anymore, remember? The rules don’t apply to either of us. We’re on our own side now.” He holds the sword up in preparation.

“Whatever,” Sandalphon sneers. “You’re just a speck in our way, that can be easily removed.”

It happens in a flash – he tries to bring his sword down quickly on top of Aziraphale, but his movements are too slow. Aziraphale dodges easily and immediately lashes out, catching him in the stomach. Sandalphon lurches over, surprised, before disappearing in a flash of light, discorporated. His sword clatters to the ground.

“Now you’re down to two,” Aziraphale grins. “Do you give up yet?”

Uriel scoffs. “We’re only just getting started.”

A loud ringing echoes through the shop as the two swords clash together, a furious look in Uriel’s eyes as they try to push back against Aziraphale. He holds his ground and slides out of the lock, getting out of the way before attempting a blow to their side. Uriel just manages to block it, knocking his sword out of the way.

Aziraphale feels something in him snap – he was trying to hold back, but he can’t anymore. He starts to glow as they exchange a few more blows before he finally lands one in their chest. They look down at it in shock before following after Sandalphon, the sword dropping to the floor.

He turns. “Gabriel. Let me guess; you’re not going to surrender?”

Gabriel is in a defensive position; a scowl etched across his face. He darts forward with a quick jab, but Aziraphale knocks it aside with ease. 

“You listen close, archangel.” Aziraphale’s voice has started to echo. 

He tries to strike again, but Gabriel has never been one to get his hands dirty, so he’s impossibly slow compared to Aziraphale. He knocks it to the side again. 

“You will not come and try to hurt either of us ever again.”

This time, Aziraphale catches Gabriel’s sword with his own, spinning his hand so it flies out of Gabriel’s grip and clatters on top of the other two. Gabriel takes a step backward, falling over a pile of books.

Aziraphale leans in close, holding the flaming sword close Gabriel’s throat. He hisses, “Because you can bet your asses, as long as we’re together, we’ll protect each other. Got it?” Gabriel nods weakly, and, making sure to get his point across, Aziraphale finishes the job, and with one last blinding light, Gabriel is gone.

Now that they’re all gone, Aziraphale lets gravity claim his sword, the flames extinguishing before they hit the ground. He starts to reign himself in as the glowing ceases, leaning heavily on the pommel.

Crowley comes rushing over, offering his support to Aziraphale before he falls over from fatigue. After taking hold of his arms and leading him over to the chair to sit down, Aziraphale smiles weakly up at Crowley.

“We did it.”

Crowley can’t help from smiling back. “You did it, angel.” With a snap of his fingers, the angel’s swords are gone from existence, and he makes sure they’ll never be able to exist again.


	12. Crowley

“How did you even do all of that?” Crowley admonishes. He has pulled a chair over for himself so he can sit with Aziraphale as he rests. It’s been a long day for him, and probably an even longer year. Crowley had wanted to wait for Aziraphale to start the conversation again, but curiosity always gets the best of him. 

“I wasn’t told to guard the gates of Eden without reason, dear.” The name still gives Crowley chills – he doesn’t think he deserves it anymore, after what he has done.

“Then why’d you let me tempt the humans?” Crowley suddenly wishes he didn’t wear sunglasses. Aziraphale had donned them again after the battle, and now, they hide his thinking process as he ponders the question.

“I suppose I saw something in you. Can’t be certain, it was so long ago. For all I know, it could have been part of the Ineffable Plan. No one really ever knows for sure why they do something, just that it’s right or wrong for them.”

His face falls. “I suppose that isn’t true, either. They can do something they think is right, but it turns out it was the worst decision they ever made.”

Softly, he says, “It’s inherently human to make mistakes. To think you’ve done right when you’ve actually done wrong. I daresay that living among them for over 6000 years does change one quite a bit.”

“But I still hurt you,” he continues, looking down at the ground and fiddling with his sleeve. “I hurt you, and you still let me back. I made you think that I – I – that I betrayed you, and you, you had suffered the entire time.”

“Well, you did leave me in the middle of Berkeley Square.”

Crowley nods.

“And took my body along with you.”

He nods again.

“And made me think you never liked me in the first place.”

“I get the point.”

“What I’m trying to say is, you did hurt me. There’s no use in denying it.” Aziraphale gently covers his hand with his. “But it’s inherently human to live and forget; to love and forgive. Humans hurt each other all the time and then help each other heal. They realize their mistakes and learn from them; grow from them; heal from them. The first step is admitting it, and then it gets easier. It never goes away, no, but it gets easier.”

Crowley looks up to him and truly looks at him. He looks past the physical form and to Aziraphale’s true form hiding within, it’s usual bright glow dull and faded. Aziraphale’s hiding behind a mask – he always has, Crowley realizes, hiding his true feelings so he seems okay. He knows he’s worn his fair share of masks before too. But now, that’s going to change.

Pulling away and turning to the side, Crowley says, “I’m not a human, though. I’m a demon. And you’re an angel. I don’t get to be forgiven – I don’t _deserve_ to be forgiven. A demon’s mistakes usually mean something bad, no matter what happened. And angels?” He pauses, staring out the window wistfully. “Angels are perfect. They don’t make mistakes. They deserve their forgiveness. They deserve – they deserve their love.” He shakes his head. A demon can only ever hurt those they care about. If they can care at all.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that. Do you call those angels I just killed perfect?”

“... I guess not. But the other part’s still true.” He turns back to face Aziraphale looking through the sunglasses and directly into his eyes. “Of all the 6000 years I’ve known you, I keep making mistake after mistake after mistake. I made what, two good decisions? Saving you from the French, and then again from those bastards in the church. I thought leaving you behind was the best choice to keep you safe and look how that turned out. You ended up so depressed that you have to pretend now that you’re not feeling as bad as you truly are.” He sighs and looks away again. “I hurt you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness. Let’s just – let me give you your body back, since I’ve kept it for so long now, and then I’ll get out of your hair. I’d hate to hurt you more.”

“You don’t have to go, Crowley. You can stay right here.”

“Please. Angel. Drop the mask. You don’t need to hide it from me. I know what I did to you. I – I…”

Aziraphale sighs and stands. His shoulders droop, and he suddenly lets his face show just how tired he is. “Oh, alright.” He holds out his hand as Crowley gets up. “Just one last thing before you do?”

“And what is that?” He takes hold of Aziraphale’s hand.

Before they can start the body swap, Aziraphale pulls Crowley in quickly, pressing tender lips against Crowley’s as he starts the swap. They are forced to hold it as they switch, and Crowley watches in shock as the sunglasses leave Aziraphale’s face, uncovering his closed eyes.

Once the switch finishes, Aziraphale is the one to pull away, straightening out his bowtie and shaking himself out. Crowley stays frozen in place, his brain both moving wildly in every direction possible and not at all.

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale looks back at him softly, reaching up and pulling his hair loose so it hangs around his face once more. “I want you to stay, my dear. No more masks. This is the whole truth. I don’t ever want to see you leave again.” He pulls Crowley’s sunglasses off before admitting, “I love you. You hurt me, yes, but I can heal, with you. If you leave now - it will only continue to hurt. Please, let me give you that second chance.”

He lurches forward and captures Aziraphale in his arms, squeezing him tight. “I will. I will.” He buries his face in Aziraphale’s hair to hide his tears, pressing a soft kiss into the curls. “I love you too, angel. We’ll fix each other together, I promise.”

“And we’ll always be there to protect each other.”

Crowley smiles. “And we’ll always be there to protect each other. No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! I really hope I did it justice, I've been playing around with these last few chapters trying to get the right feeling, and to be honest, I'm still not sure I did it right. Thank you to all of those who have supported me through this with your <s>yelling</s> comments, and a big thanks to fluffy_teddybear for being my emotional beta and telling me when things did or didn't hit right! Hope you all enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> and the usual [tumblr](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com) sphiel. Come yell at me if ya want


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